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Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Rebecca Zanetti's Mercury Rising Blog Tour (+Giveaway)

Enter to Win a

Print Copy of MERCURY STRIKING

MERCURY STRIKING

The Scorpius Syndrome #1

Rebecca Zanetti

Releasing on January 26, 2016

Zebra

With nothing but rumors to lead her, Lynne Harmony has
trekked across a nightmare landscape to find one man—a mysterious, damaged
legend who protects the weak and leads the strong. He’s more than muscle and
firepower—and in post-plague L.A., he’s her only hope. As the one woman who
could cure the disease, Lynne is the single most volatile—and
vulnerable—creature in this new and ruthless world. But face to face with Jax
Mercury…

What had she done?
Lynne had actually fallen asleep on Jax Mercury. She awoke, blinking inside the
stifling hood, just as he lifted her into the cool morning air and easily
strode over uneven ground. A slight change of temperature hit her, and his
steps leveled out.

Inside. They were inside somewhere.
The smell of dust and burned tomato soup tickled her nose, but no sound
provided a clue as to their whereabouts. All but blinded, she tried to tune in
to her other senses. Jax’s boots clomped heavily across a hard surface, and his
heart beat steadily against her shoulder.

His stride didn’t hitch as he
climbed stairs, turned, walked in a too-quiet area, and opened a door. The
world tilted, and he placed her, gently actually, on what felt like a fake
leather sofa.

He yanked the hood off.

Light from halogen lamps assaulted
her wide pupils, and she winced, her eyes tearing. “You’re an ass.”

Silver flashed, and he cut the zip
ties. “So it has been said.”

Heat climbed into her face. The man
had carried her easily and didn’t seem winded a bit. Even so, the legends
whispered around campfires and refugee camps across the country had to be
exaggerated. Nobody was that tough. “We need to talk,” she gritted out.

He yanked a kitchen chair toward
her, turned it, and straddled it. Now, in the light, she was struck by how
young he really was. Maybe mid-thirties, black hair, dark brown eyes, and
rugged facial features. Handsome in a pissed-off kind of way. A scar cut under
the left side of his jaw, white and deadly. “So, talk.”

She swallowed and tugged her
backpack to her chest, glancing around what appeared to be a small apartment. A
kitchenette took up one wall, an unmade bed the other, with dented furniture in
between. Sofa, metal coffee table, woodlaminate kitchen table, paint peeling
pink kids’ dresser, and mismatched kitchen chairs. Maps covered the table,
spread out haphazardly. “Where am I?”

“You don’t get to know that.” He
rested his arms on the top of the chair, muscles flexing.

She bit her lip. Men’s clothing
littered the unmade bed, and the smell of musk and male filled the atmosphere.
“Whose place am I in?”

“Mine.” He lifted a shoulder, his
gaze unwavering. “And yours now, I guess.”

She pushed back into the torn
pleather. “I’m not, I mean, I—”

One dark eyebrow rose. “You’re here
because I’m keeping an eye on you and making sure you don’t infect anybody
else.”

“I won’t infect anybody else,” she
said slowly, her nails digging into the couch until the pads of her fingertips
protested. “We don’t really know the truth about that statement, now do we?
You’re the ultimate carrier of the most dangerous plague to ever attack
mankind.” He lowered his chin, the movement somehow menacing. “You’re also here
so I can make sure you’re not ready to check out.”

She rolled her eyes. “If I’d wanted
to kill myself, I wouldn’t have traveled this far to do it.”

“Fair enough.”

She glanced at the unmade bed. Too
many women had become victims as the world had disintegrated; the strong
overcame the weak. She wasn’t weak, and she was no man’s plaything. “I’m not
here for your amusement.”

“I’m not amused.” He leaned toward
her, and her breath caught in her throat. “Let me be perfectly clear. I don’t
force myself on women, and neither do any of my men. Any people here, and
anyone we come across, remain safe from personal attack. Rape is a crime dealt
with by death, so you have no need to fear.”

She’d heard that in the rumors and
tales, but she hadn’t known it to be true. “Women don’t earn their keep, earn
their protection, with sex here?” Wherever here was.

“No.”

“You were in an inner-city L.A.
gang. Years ago.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Rape was against the rules?”

His face blanked.
“No, but I’ve never forced a woman.” Those dark eyes narrowed. “My past is my
own. You sure know a lot about me.”

Not really. He’d become a folk
legend fighting in L.A. before the news had shut down. Since then she’d been
trying to gather facts, but there were still blanks. “Why did you leave the
gang? I’ve never heard why you entered the army.”

He rubbed his chin. “Judge gave me a
choice. Prison or military. I guess he saw something in me.”

She let her shoulders relax. “I
wondered.”

“Yeah.” Jax eyed her shirt just at
her neck. “Can I see again?”

Well, she couldn’t really blame him.
She set aside the pack holding her father’s precious journal. Her fingers
remained steady this time as she unbuttoned the blouse and drew open the sides.

Jax’s nostrils flared, while a
tension, one she barely remembered as sexual, overtook the atmosphere. “Does it
hurt?”

“The blueness?” She glanced down,
her lungs suddenly

too tight“No. I don’t feel anything.”

He reached out and gently took her
wrist, shoving the sleeve up to reveal the track marks on her elbow. “This must
hurt.”

His touch stirred awareness deep in
her abdomen, and surprise paused her at the feeling. When was the last time
she’d felt desire? Or even warmth from another’s touch? She glanced down at the
scars caused by drawing so much blood. So many times, and outside of normal
medical procedures after a while. “Yes. That hurts.”

“I knew a junkie once with an arm
like this.” Jax shook his head and unrolled her sleeve. “The irrationality of a
thing is not an argument against its existence, rather, a condition of it,” he
murmured, securing the buttons at her wrist. She frowned as the familiar words
rolled around her head. “Einstein?”

“Nietzsche.” Jax lifted an eyebrow.
“Rumor has it you’re carrying an advanced form of Scorpius. True or false?”
“False rumor to isolate me.” She tried to keep her tired eyes open.

Jax gestured toward her pack. “I get
the food and water you have, but what’s in the journal?”

She sighed. “Sorry, but there’s
nothing about Scorpius. My dad was a physicist and a philosopher. He wrote a lot
down.”

Jax blinked. “That’s quite the
combination.”

“Yes.” The words on paper were all
she had left of her parents.

Jax studied her and then looked
toward the gas lamp on the counter. “We have lanterns left, but not for long
unless we get more fuel. So keep an eye on the lamp but extinguish it if you go
to sleep.”

“I understand.” The guy was quoting
Nietzsche? What kind of an ex-gang member turned army special ops turned leader
of a vigilante group knew philosophy? She shook her head. Time to negotiate.
“I’m here for a reason.” “I’m sure.” He eyed her blue heart again. “You can
cover up.”

She fumbled in refastening her
shirt. “I’ll teach you everything I know about the illness, and you provide
temporary protection and one kill.” The mere idea she was contracting a murder
banished the desire humming inside her and replaced the heat with a lump of
cold rock.

A veil fell over Jax’s eyes. “What
makes you think we don’t know everything you do about the illness?”

She shrugged, wondering if he knew
what kind of information he might have stored away just from his ransacking
labs. “The Internet went down fast, much faster than anyone would’ve thought,
and the news and television thereafter. No way do you know what I know.”

He watched her patiently, as if waiting
to strike. “The Internet went down because of a guy named Spiral.”

She blinked. Wow. So Jax Mercury had
some seriously good intel. “True. He was infected with the illness and then
reacted by creating a world-class computer virus. Figured if bodies died, so
should technology, since it got us in this fix in the first place.” Her
instincts hummed. Underestimating Mercury would be a colossal mistake.
Suddenly, and for the first time in way too long, hope struggled to unfurl
within her. “I still know more about the illness than you do.”

“Probably.” He studied her for a few
moments longer before cocking his head to the side. “What else?”

She cleared her throat. “I assume
you’ve scavenged the area you control?”

His chin lifted. “So?”

She swallowed, her body stilling.
“Did you scavenge the emergency CDC outpost on the southeast side of L.A.?” Her
blood pumped so fast she could feel a vein in her neck bulging.

“Yes. Why?” he asked softly.

The softness contained a deadly
intent that rippled a shiver down her spine. Her fingers fidgeted. “They had
the most recent research, and combined with mine, we might have hope.” They
also had intel on where Myriad, the ultrasecret lab, might be located.

He studied her. “We raided the CDC
outpost and took all medical supplies and paper records. Our limited medical
personnel went through the files looking for cures, but I have to be honest,
none of them are researchers with your background.”

Lynne leaned
forward. “I’m happy to go through all the information and decipher it for you.”
Oh God. Maybe the risk of heading into Mercury’s territory would actually pay
off . . . if she could find Myriad. “Could I look through the data?”

He leaned back and studied her.
“Sure. Are you telling me there may be a cure?”

USA Today Bestselling author Rebecca Zanetti has
worked as an art curator, Senate aide, lawyer, college professor, and a hearing
examiner - only to culminate it all in stories about Alpha males and the women
who claim them. She writes contemporary romances, dark paranormal romances, and
romantic suspense novels.

Growing up amid the glorious backdrops and winter
wonderlands of the Pacific Northwest has given Rebecca fantastic scenery and
adventures to weave into her stories. She resides in the wild north with her
husband, children, and extended family who inspire her every day—or at the very
least give her plenty of characters to write about.